Je ne suis pas un Ange, or Mishaps in Parenting
by Umiko
Summary: AU (Leroux): Christine stays with Erik after turning the scorpion, and they get stuck caring for an infant; not entirely comedy
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1  
  
He was finally gone. He had left before dawn to pick up the dresses he had commissioned for her.  
  
Why was she wasting time? He would be back soon…one must seize an opportunity when it presented itself!  
  
She felt disconnected from her body as she moved towards a door. There was no reason to stay now that Raoul was safe; after all, she had spent two weeks underground with this man! Nor did it matter that she kept her promise to stay; he had deceived her in the past.  
  
When she stepped into one the cool tunnels she heard a faint crying sound. Trying to ignore this odd occurrence, she trudged onward through the passageways that would eventually lead to the streets.  
  
She wasn't a prisoner. She could move freely; she wasn't a prisoner. The mantra repeated itself over and over again in the young woman's head as she stumbled through the dark passageways.  
  
And still the wailing continued!  
  
He had shown her how to navigate through the bleak tunnels safely; after all, they were engaged now and he trusted her. She had to believe that, though there was always a look of knowing sadness in the older man's eyes.  
  
But why this crying sound? She wasn't crying…all her tears were always silent, for her own sake.  
  
As she fumbled with the gate of the Rue Scribe until it opened, she felt a cool breeze hit her face for the first time in weeks. The light from the cloudy sky stung her eyes as they adjusted. Freedom would be hers if she just took one more step…  
  
But she couldn't. The wretched sobbing had been coming from a dirty infant that was now at her feet.  
  
The exhilarating moment ended. She couldn't run away; she had made a promise. Besides, he would know; he would find her.  
  
Christine Daaé sighed and gently picked up the filthy baby and soothed it until it's wailing subsided.  
  
What was she going to do? She certainly couldn't leave it in the streets. She momentarily pondered taking the baby to a convent or the like, but her boldness had faded, and she felt fear welling up inside. Even if she went out and returned, he was be suspicious, and then he would be angry, and she could not endure his terrifying tantrums.  
  
Resigned, she took the infant back to the house by the lake. After disposing of her tattered blanket, she bathed the baby and dressed her in one of her blouses and fashioned one of her shawls into a diaper. As a result, by the time she had finished, the child looked several sizes larger.  
  
She wrapped the child up snuggly and laid her down for a nap when she heard Erik return, later than expected. Gathering her resolve, she quietly shut the door to her room and found the man in quite an irate mood.  
  
"Welcome back."  
  
"Oh, Christine, forgive me! The dressmaker did not arrive at the agreed upon time…he won't forget in the future, however."  
  
Christine managed a smile, having no desire to question him further on the matter. "I'm sorry you went through all that trouble for me. Thank you."  
  
"A minor incident, that's all. Have you eaten breakfast, yet?"  
  
"No…no, I haven't. Erik, please, would you do me a favor? We need milk…and butter, I think."  
  
"What for? Do you want to bake something?"  
  
"Well, no…Erik, how do you feel about children?" she asked uneasily.  
  
After looking startled for a moment, he responded with barely contained joy, "Oh, Christine…you honestly mean this?"  
  
"Perhaps you misunderstood…"  
  
The baby's shrill cry interrupted her explanation. Erik stared at her, then went into her room, looking from the infant back to Christine.  
  
"It's not…it can't be yours…is it?"  
  
"No!" Christine cried, indignant. "I found her by the exit onto the Rue Scribe."  
  
"What where you doing there?" he demanded.  
  
"I heard crying, so I followed it."  
  
"You respond easily to auditory beckonings, don't you?" he commented when the baby shrieked again.  
  
"She's hungry. That's why I need the milk."  
  
"She also needs proper clothing. How long do you intend to keep her?"  
  
"I don't know."  
  
He sighed. "I'll give you money; go and buy her what she needs."  
  
"You…you trust me to go out?"  
  
"I doubt that you'd leave a starving infant," he said bitterly.  
  
"I'd rather you go," Christine said softly.  
  
"You don't trust me to be around a baby? What have I done to displease you now? Haven't I shown you nothing but courtesy and respect while you've been here?"  
  
He had, but he was a murderer and still frightened her terribly. "Well, yes, but, you're…" Christine started timidly.  
  
"A monster?" he demanded.  
  
"Male."  
  
"Oh." They stared at each other. "You just need to get essentials…you shouldn't be gone for more than hour; I assure you, I can handle her for that amount of time."  
  
"You'll support her head? And change her? I suppose…"  
  
"It's settled then. The sooner you leave the sooner she will have her food."  
  
Christine put her coat and gloves on. When she went to collect the money from Erik, he asked, "What's her name."  
  
"I don't know. I suppose we'll have to decide on one."  
  
"'We?'"  
  
"Well, this is your home…so, yes. We. Besides, she needs a name, and—Erik, what's your surname?"  
  
He was about to answer when the baby began to cry again. "You'd better go." 


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2  
  
Erik stared at the sniffling baby. The little girl's face was beat red and mucus dripped from her nose to mingle with the tears that had settled on her cheeks.  
  
"Will you drink water?" Erik asked.  
  
Her lower lip quivered and she broke out crying again. Erik sighed and brought her a glass of water. He tentatively picked her up and held her head while he raised the glass to her lips. However, the water just ran down the infant's face and onto Christine's blouse when he tried to get her to drink it.  
  
"If you're hungry you have to eat," he informed the child.  
  
Gently, he prodded her mouth open with a finger in an attempt to get her to drink, but instead the child clamped down with her toothless gums and began to contently gnaw on his finger.  
  
"Well, at least you stopped squealing," he muttered.  
  
After a few more minutes, he separated her lips again and managed to pour some of the water down her throat. His moment of satisfaction was short lived when the baby began to cough.  
  
"You're choking now? All you had to do was swallow…" he exclaimed, feeling slightly panicked. He scooped the child up and placed her over his shoulder and patted her gently.  
  
"Calm down, calm down…hush," he said soothingly.  
  
The coughing spell subsided, but when he laid her down again he felt a wetness against his shoulder. Shuddering, he removed his jacket, vest and shirt.  
  
"Don't move," he warned the infant. The child seemed oblivious to him. Sighing, he headed to his chambers for a change of clothes, only to find a bewildered Christine unpacking her parcels.  
  
"She—I tried to give her water, and she…she…"  
  
"She spit up?" Christine asked, blushing and averting her eyes. "Get dressed; I'll watch her." There was a brief pause. "Erik—"  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"You should eat more," Christine said, sounding slightly concerned, before heading into her room to tend to the child.  
  
When Erik returned Christine asked, "Have you thought of any names?"  
  
"A few. And you?"  
  
"A few, also," she replied quietly, indicating the baby. "She's exhausted herself; I'll feed her when she wakes up." The young woman sighed. "What names have you thought of?"  
  
"Well, there's Mitra, Viviana, Taraneh…"  
  
Christine blinked. "Oh. Or perhaps Olga, or Marta…"  
  
They stared at each other.  
  
"Perhaps we should just call her 'Lotte,'" Erik suggested wryly.  
  
"No!" Christine said with uncharacteristic sharpness. "I don't want to end up—" She broke off.  
  
"Like you?" Erik asked, turning away from her.  
  
"Appoline, Jeanne, Laurette…"  
  
"Jeanne. It's simple and practical," Erik said, still not facing Christine.  
  
"And…a surname?"  
  
"She can have yours."  
  
"It wouldn't be appropriate…"  
  
"Perhaps de Changy?" he inquired acidly.  
  
Christine flinched. "Keep your voice down!"  
  
Erik glared at her but said nothing.  
  
"Where are you from?"  
  
"It doesn't matter."  
  
"Erik."  
  
"Outside Rouen."  
  
"Well…Jeanne de Rouen, then?"  
  
"She's not my child! You can't just—"  
  
"Well, what am I supposed to do? Call her Jeanne de Palais Garnier?"  
  
Erik, mildly surprised to see Christine's display of temper over the infant, said firmly, "Jeanne Daaé; no exception. Besides, it hardly matters now, does it? You don't intend to adopt her, do you?"  
  
Christine looked at the floor.  
  
"It would be unfair to her; you can't just lock a child away in darkness like this…" His voice trailed off as he studied Christine. He had locked a child away in darkness.  
  
"She has no where else to go; at least I now she'll be provided for."  
  
"You should prepare her meal so she doesn't cry when she wakes."  
  
Christine nodded and obeyed.  
  
Erik sat down on Christine's bed next to the sleeping baby. For how skinny she was, her cheeks held the softest hint of color, and thin strawberry blonde hair covered her head and had begun to curl. She would be quite pretty when she grew up. He sighed and thought of Christine. He had left it up to her to decide when they should be married, and he doubted the day would ever come; she would simply wait until he died. He couldn't blame her, either. By holding her to the bargain he became the monster everyone thought he was.  
  
The infant stirred slightly. Perhaps, if he could prove himself by caring for the child, she would consent.  
  
When she opened her eyes he picked her up before she could cry. "Jeanne," he said, trying the name out. Her wide blue eyes darted up to his masked face. "I assume you'll be happy to eat? Christine will feed you; you're not ruining my clothes again."  
  
The baby's eyes lit up as if to say, "Wait and see." 


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3  
  
That night, Christine sat in a comfortable chair holding Jeanne, humming softly and staring at the fire. After observing her in silence for nearly twenty minutes, Erik finally commented, "I think you should put her to bed."  
  
Christine looked up, startled. "Oh." She stood up and started to walk to as her as the baby stirred slightly.   
"What are you doing?"  
"I'm putting her to bed."  
"Where?"  
"In my room, of course."  
"What if she falls out? Or you might roll on top of her..."  
"Keep your voice down! Where else can I put her?"  
"In my bed," he said.  
"What?" Christine demanded, louder than she had intended, causing the still sleeping infant to squirm. "You don't have a bed! I'm not putting my baby into a coffin!"  
"It's the safest thing until a crib is purchased...and she's not 'your baby,'" Erik stated.  
Christine glared at him resentfully. "I won't put her in a coffin; it's just morbid. Besides, where would you sleep?" She suddenly reddened and looked down at Jeanne.  
"In a chair, Mademoiselle," he said bitterly, folding his arms across his chest.  
"I didn't mean...I know you wouldn't...I hope you wouldn't...Oh!" Christine exclaimed in disgust and fled to her bedroom with the baby.  
Erik sighed. He waited a few moments before lightly tapping on Christine's door.   
"What?" she called, her voice sounding a bit strained.  
"I need to speak with you."  
Christine emerged, giving Erik enough time before she closed the door to see that Jeanne was safely corralled among several pillows.   
"Yes, Erik, what is it?"  
"Do you really intend to keep her?"  
Fearful that he would make her give the infant away, Christine responded boldly, "Do you really intend to keep me? You have your answer."  
Erik seemed unfazed. "You...are an adult and made a decision; she is a child. You understand what a disadvantage she'll be at? The dampness of the cellars, no contact with other children..."  
"There is no reason she cannot attend a private school," Christine said stubbornly.  
"We are not her parents! You are not her mother!"  
"Any decent woman would not abandon an innocent child to fend for itself!"  
Erik glared at her. "We're not...you and I...she deserves a family."  
"I can take care of her. When she's old enough, you can teach her. It'll be fine, and she'll be safe. I'll protect her," Christine said with conviction, willing the statement to be true.  
"We could be a family, of course...for Jeanne," he mused.  
Christine turned away. "You could...purchase a house in the country, away from people. But she'll still be able to play outside...and I could take her to a small village occasionally, so she'll be acquainted with people..."  
"How long do you intend to live like this?"  
"What do you mean?"  
"You know perfectly well what I mean. Christine, I didn't intend to push you, but you seem content to avoid the subject of marriage all together."  
Christine felt her eyes well up. "You won't understand..."  
"Understand what?"  
The tears began to spill. "You gave me everything...my voice, my career...my fiancé; Raoul wouldn't have noticed me in the chorus. You gave me everything I could have ever wanted...and then you took it away. Marry you, or the man I love dies, at your hand, in your torture chamber? Yes, I made a decision, but what choice did I truly have? I can't have that life back...I can't go back up there, to the Opera...and I can't go back to Raoul. And...you made a mockery of something very dear to me, and my father. Erik, understand, I respect you, I care about you...but I'm in love with Raoul! And you sent him away! And...I can't leave...I can't leave, for what will I do with Jeanne? I can't leave her here...You terrify me! Don't you understand? It's not your face...I don't care about that anymore...You're a murderer, Erik, a murderer! How can I marry a murderer? I'm sorry...I can't love you...I just can't...I'll keep my promise, if that's what you wish, but I can't love you...don't you understand? You're a great man, but..." She sank to her knees, sobbing.  
  
Erik stared at her blankly. Instinct told him to try and comfort her, reassure her, but logic said it would do little good. Instead, he turned stiffly and locked himself in his chamber. 


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4  
  
After a long time, Christine wiped her eyes and went into her room. Jeanne was sleeping quite contently. She sat beside the baby.  
"Look at you. You don't have any idea what's going on...and you're happy that way, aren't you? I used to be like you, you know...I wish I still was."  
Jeanne was not disturbed by Christine's quiet monologue, and began to blow saliva bubbles in her sleep.  
"I don't want to hurt him...I didn't want to hurt either of them. If I leave...I think he'll kill himself. But I can't marry him...then I would have to stay; but I'm trapped already, aren't I? He's terrible when he's angry, Jeanne...he wouldn't harm you, I think...I don't think he'd harm me, either, but I'm not sure...and I couldn't protect you. I'm...I'm no better than a caged bird! And I can't go to Raoul, especially not with you...and I can't leave you here. And I've angered him, now...I just told the truth...who knows what his twisted mind in brewing up? Oh, Jeanne, I've been so foolish! And now you're involved...and that's not your fault. This whole situation is my fault...no, Erik started it! He's to blame! No, it is my fault...what am I going to do?"  
It was at this moment that the large bubble of spit burst onto the baby's face. A startled Jeanne woke up and started wailing. Christine stared at the squealing infant for a moment, then began to chuckle, and ended up in a fit of hysterical laughter which caused her fall off her bed onto the fall.   
"You pitiful little creature!" Christine exclaimed, still laughing. The young woman calmed herself and cradled the brawling child.  
"Shush, now. I'm here. It'll turn out right in the end...hush. Have you ever heard the tale of little Lotte?"  
  
Erik paced his chambers. He was worthless in her eyes; she would never reconcile his past. She would never love him, but she had promised to stay, and to marry him. She wouldn't of course. She would stay...where else could she go? He had taken every option from her.   
She hated him; there was no way around it. The one human being he cared, cherished...loved, hated him. She had feared him before, yes, but he had believed she would over come that. But she truly hated him; he couldn't remedy that.   
Slowly, he removed his mask and traced an outline of his misshapen faced. What had he even though he could offer her? His dream had always been unattainable, and now it lay in shattered pieces around him.  
A light wrap on his door startled him. Hastily replacing his mask, he strode over and opened the heavy door. Christine stood before him, hands at her sides, looking somewhat like a military officer.   
"Yes, Mademoiselle?" he drawled in a monotone.  
While Christine maintained control of her expression, her hands trembled and she brought them behind her back. With a quivering voice, she explained, "I want you to write a letter to the managers, instructing them to allow me to sing again. It doesn't matter in what capacity...but they must not question me. You must also instruct them to inform the company that they are not to question me about my absence or anything else. Will you do this for me?"  
Erik eyed her quizzically. "What brought about this idea?"  
She hung her head for a moment, but then seemed to regain her courage. "I think it would be best...for me to have my own salary."  
"Ah..." So, she would save money and leave with Jeanne. Rather practical, he silently mused as his heart sunk.  
"So...will you do this for me, please?"  
"What will you do with the money?"  
This answer she had rehearsed. "You've done so much to care for and house me...I don't want to burden you with Jeanne financially. You will, however, have to look after her when I am gone."  
"You trust me with the infant, now?"  
"Yes," she said with conviction, though her eyes betrayed her true feeling.   
"This will make you happy?"  
"Yes."  
"And...you will not speak of your current situation with me, I trust?"  
"Oh, of course not, Erik! I'm not that foolish!"  
He sighed, resigned. He had lost her already. "Very well. I shall inform the management that you will be returning to work."  
"Don't demand any position for me...the chorus would be just fine."  
"As you wish."  
Christine went to leave, then paused and whispered, "Thank you."  
Erik locked the door behind her. Did she think he was an imbecile? No, of course not. He was a monster-an unfeeling, unthinking monster. Of course he wouldn't foresee her actions!   
He felt defeated, but he didn't cry. He was numb. She had to remain for least two months...he would have to be content with that. He would have to treat her as well as he could in that time. He was already an open wound...nothing she could do would cause any more pain. It didn't matter anymore.   
  
Christine changed into her nightclothes and curled up, holding Jeanne protectively. As she slept, she dreamed that was a child again, and her father watched over her. 


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5  
  
Christine's return to the Opera was met with cold avoidance by most, sneers from a few, and apprehension by the managers; they didn't want to be around anything, or anyone, remotely connected with the ghost.  
Christine was placed in the role of Siebel; she was not in the chorus and she was not the star. This suited Christine just fine. Rumors concerning her sudden reappearance naturally circulated. When Raoul de Chagny heard of her return, he immediately came to see her while the company was rehearing. The managers, however, would not let the young nobleman near her; she was not excepting callers, by her wishes and the orders of the ghost. The Vicomte returned to his home, thoroughly disheartened.   
  
Meanwhile, Erik was left with Jeanne. His original plan was to the deposit the child on a blanket on the floor while he tried to compose, hoping that work would take his mind off Christine. When he began this routine, she would scream whenever he played anything loudly. After about three days of this, she had ceased to wail; instead, he was convinced she was glaring at him.   
One day, Erik turned around to find that Jeanne had squirmed about one and half feet from her blanket. She was still moving forward on her belly at a snail's pace when he scooped her up.   
"Lord help us all, you're mobile! You're not even crawling, dear girl, you're...slinking."  
The baby looked quite indignant, as if to say, "I'd like to see you do better."  
"Don't pout."  
He sighed and placed Jeanne back on her blanket.   
"Aaaaaa!" she whined.  
"Oh, hush up. You'll get your meal in an hour."  
Appearing rather vexed, the baby rolled over onto her stomach.   
Erik shook his head. "If you really want something, you can learn to talk."   
Jeanne continued to protest her neglect by lying on her stomach.  
"Fine! You win!" Erik degreed sarcastically, throwing his arms up in the air. "You're still not eating for an hour, though."  
He picked her up and sang to her; he was rewarded with a smile.  
  
About a month later, Erik had decided that Jeanne needed to start eating real food, as the sight of the milk mixture she consumed was beginning to nauseate him. So, while he attempted to cook cream of potato soup, Jeanne attempted to maneuver in directions other than straight.  
  
"Christine! May I come in?" Meg called.  
Christine opened her dressing room door. "Hello," she murmured.  
"Why, Christine, you look dreadful," the little dancer said with concern.  
"I'm just a bit tired."  
"Oh...perhaps this isn't a good time, then..."  
"A good time for what?" Christine asked.  
Meg looked around guiltily and dropped her voice to a whisper. "Monsieur le Vicomte wanted me to smuggle a note into you, since you aren't seeing anybody, but I said if he wanted to speak with you he should come see you himself. Imagine! A grown man expecting me to deliver notes for him, like he was a schoolboy..."  
Christine paled. "Raoul is here?"  
Meg nodded. "He's just down the hallway. Monsieur!"  
Raoul entered the room slowly. "Christine?"  
"Oh, God forgive me!" she cried.  
Both Meg and Raoul looked at her terrified expression in bewilderment.   
"Perhaps...I'll be going now...excuse me," Meg mumbled, not wanting to be in such an uncomfortable situation.  
"Christine, what's wrong? Has he hurt you?"  
Christine shook her head. "Oh, why are you here?"  
"I-I just wanted to be sure you're safe. Christine, if you want to leave..."  
"I can't!"  
"Christine, even..."The young man swallowed, then continued, "Even if you don't still want to marry me, or...if you...can't, I still love you. You could have your own quarters at my home..."  
"Your brother wouldn't allow that," Christine said quickly.  
"He would disapprove, yes, but I just want you to be safe."  
"I can't leave."  
"You...did marry him, didn't you?" He looked like he would cry.  
"No. I have to stay to take care of the baby."  
"Oh, well, in that case...What?"  
"Oh, please don't tell anyone!"  
Raoul seemed to be in a state of complete incomprehension. "Is it yours? Or...Lord above, is it...his?"  
"Well, it is ours, in a way, I suppose..."  
"When did this happen? You haven't been gone long enough to..."  
Christine blinked. "You think...?" She laughed. "Oh, Raoul, do calm down! I found her! Her name is Jeanne."  
"Oh. Well, you could bring her along."  
Christine bowed her head. "Not yet, Raoul. But, in a few months time, will you help me find a flat? It won't be for some time, but..." She looked up at him, hopeful.  
Raoul nodded. "I'll do whatever you ask, though Philippe has been plotting to have me sent on an expedition..."  
"I understand."  
Raoul managed a smiled. "I'll be here next week in my box..."  
"I won't be able to see you for a long time. I'm sorry, I truly am...I do love you, Raoul."  
He hugged her. "Christine, should you need anything..."  
"Please, just go!"  
  
"Alright, Jeanne. This is food. You eat food like you drink that...concoction of yours," Erik explained, holding the baby over the table where a small bowl of cream of potato soup rested.  
"Do you understand? When I put the spoon to your mouth, you'll have to swallow," he said, as he turned the child around so she faced him.   
"Ready?" he asked.  
Jeanne's response was to knock his mask off so that it landed in the bowl of soup.   
Erik stared at the baby he held in mute shock. Jeanne laughed and declared, "Baba da-ah!"  
"Oh, my! What...?" Christine questioned of the unusual scene which met her return. "Erik...what?" She averted her eyes, and Erik turned around so his back faced the young woman.  
"I...made cream of potato soup for Jeanne and..."  
"You made a cream soup for her? She hasn't had real food yet! If you start off with that, she'll get sick!"   
"I was trying to be useful," he muttered.  
Christine retrieved his mask from the soup. "I'll have to wash this," she commented of the black silk mask. She sighed. "You can't stand with her in a corner all evening. Give Jeanne to me; I don't care that you don't have a mask on."  
"You do care; you just won't say anything for the sake of politeness."  
Christine shook her head, though he was right. "In any case, your current position is most impractical."  
He turned around slowly with his head down, and quickly handed Jeanne over to Christine. "Don't bother with that; I have others," he said as he scurried to his chambers, covering his face with his hands.  
Christine sank down into a chair. "I suppose I'd better fix you your normal meal. I'll get you some bread tomorrow for you to try. How does that sound?" she asked wearily.  
"Daba taa!" Jeanne babbled, looking quite humored. 


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6  
  
Christine swayed back and forth, trying to lull Jeanne to sleep as Erik lightly played the organ. When the baby finally drifted off to sleep, Christine set her down in a newly acquired crib alongside her bed.  
"You seem preoccupied; is something troubling you?"  
Christine jumped. "What? Oh, Erik...I didn't know you followed me. No, nothing is troubling me Nothing at all. I'm quite fine."  
"Nothing's wrong at all? You're living underneath an opera house with a monster; this is fine, you say?" he asked icily.  
"Not in front of the baby," the young woman whispered, looking aimlessly at the floor.  
"She doesn't understand a word we're saying!"  
"She's sleeping!" Christine hissed, ushering him out of her bedroom and closing the door behind them.   
"You have a performance tomorrow; you should go to sleep," Erik said distantly, looking away from her.  
"I'm not concerned about it."  
"Are you concerned I might do something to your Vicomte?"  
"No."  
"Ah, you're not? How unusual."  
"You won't hurt him...because you think you love me."  
He turned and glared at her. "Why do you cast doubt on the one thing I hold dear?"  
"Because, if you loved me, you would have let me leave with Raoul; you would want me to be happy," Christine said quietly.  
Erik sighed and turned his back on her again. "When you choose to leave, I won't stop you. You won't have to worry about me anymore, for I'll be dead."  
"What are you talking about?"  
"Have you forgotten? I'm the ghost of this opera house! You're planning to leave with Jeanne and Raoul de Chagny!"  
Christine felt helpless panic rise up within her. "I-I'd never do that, Erik. I made a promise. And, in any case...you're always watching Jeanne when I'm at rehearsals, but Raoul is busy, and never comes to rehearsals...  
"Why do you continue to lie to me, Christine?" he asked wearily. "I've been doing the best I can...Surely, you've heard the ballets rats saying that the Vicomte is visiting Mlle. Daaé again? And why else would you want to return to the Opera? I'm not a fool, Christine. You have the purest voice...but, it is no matter. As I said, you have a performance tomorrow; get some rest."  
"I'm sorry," Christine meekly uttered. After a long silence, she managed to ask, "Will you be attending the performance?"  
He faced her again. "No."  
"Oh. Why not?"  
"Opera...brings forth all that is superficial in the world of men, from the plot to the audience. It no longer brings me any joy; I don't have the energy even to mock it. And you...you no longer sing with your heart, your soul, as you have been trained to do! Am I to go up to watch your perform some grueling task? Music is an expression of life, Christine! All the pain, sorrow...and moments of joy involved. Have you really forgotten what I taught you? I've done everything I could for you...I gave you a voice, I gave you life, and I gave you a heavenly reason to sing! And you, you sing only to betray me! To leave and forsake me! Don't you understand, Christine? I love you! And you don't care...even if you can't...or won't love me, is compassion too much to ask? Or companionship? You show only fear and pity. Why are you crying? Stop crying! I haven't done anything to you!"  
Christine had crumpled into a sobbing pile on the floor. She looked up and snapped, "You're so ignorant!" With that, she got up and locked herself in her room.  
Erik stared blankly at her door. "I'm ignorant?" he mused aloud. He slammed his fist against the wall and stormed off to his chambers, throwing himself into the thunderous score of his Don Juan. She didn't even deem him worthy of her honesty...  
  
Christine sank onto the chair in her dressing room after the performance of Faust. She felt emotionally exhausted. She hoped Erik hadn't come; she had acted as dull and lifeless as she felt. Hadn't she been a carefree, dreamy girl only a year ago? Rapid tapping at her door brought her back to reality.   
"Come in," she sighed.  
Raoul rushed in, looking quite perplexed.  
"Raoul! You shouldn't be here! He's in a horrible temper! If he sees you here, it'll be trouble for us both!"  
"Perhaps my news will please him. Christine, forgive me! Philippe's actions were quicker than I imagined. I'm to depart at the end of the week."  
Christine's heart sank even lower. "For how long?"  
"Two years," he stated regretfully.  
Christine felt tears stream down her cheeks. "Two years?" she repeated. "Oh, Raoul, that's simply dreadful!"  
He nodded. "Please, come with me now. I'll at least get you a flat."  
"I can't."  
"Well...can you bring the baby? I could get a nurse for her, so you won't be tied down here, and no child should live in the cellars..."  
"Raoul, I can't leave now! I just can't! Please, understand...I won't be a burden to you."  
"You're not! Please, Christine, there isn't much time..."  
She wanted to die. For the first time in her life, she truly wished she were dead. Slowly, she said, "Raoul, forget me. I love you, and none of this is fair to you. Live your life; you deserve so much more than me. Imagine what it would be like to be married to a singer. Please, forget me...or, only remember the innocent friendship we shared as children. Forget all that's happened here! I beg you, for your own sake!"  
"Christine, won't leave you here as a prisoner to a madman!"  
She needed to run, to hide in the deepest, darkest woods. He had to understand that this was for his own sake. And she truly wanted to see her father again...  
"I'm the wife of a corpse, Raoul! Please, go away! Just go away!"  
"Christine..."  
"Go!" she shrieked.  
He slowly backed out of the room. "If you ever need anything..."  
"Go marry a pretty girl of good stature, Raoul. You have such a wonderful life ahead of you."  
He went over to her and gently kissed her cheek. "I love you."  
"I love you, too. Farewell, my friend."  
Raoul himself looked on the verge of tears. "If this is what you want..." He bowed formally. "Farewell, my love."  
  
After she was sure he was gone, Christine fled her dressing room and headed up the stairs. She ran in a blind flight, not giving any regard to wear she was running. When cold wind and rain stung her face she realized that she had arrived on the roof.  
She gazed out at the expanse of Paris, aglow with lights. It looked magical in the rain. Anything was possible with magic. One could run through a field of flowers with faeries as playmates and walk among the heavens, for those who had faith in God would never fall...  
Somewhere in the back of her mind, she new one foot dangled in the open air, and a sense of peace washed over her. As long as she kept walking, she could go home. Just one more step...  
She yelped as if in pain when she felt someone's arms wrapping around her waist and pulling her back onto the roof.  
"No!" she cried, kicked her feet against the slick wet stone, sending her backwards on top of her satanic rescuer. What fool would deny her the simple peace of heaven and being with her father?  
She rolled off the person and began aimlessly striking the ground in her grief. "No, no, no!" she cried again and again.  
"Christine..." Erik whispered.  
"He's leaving me! He's leaving me! He's going and leaving him here! And I told him to go! I told him to leave me! Why? It's not fair...I love him..." she lament, sobbing hysterically.  
"Fate is cruel; the universe laughs at us. That's how it creates energy and sustains itself."  
"I want to die," she muttered.  
"No, no, Christine! Please, come back inside with me."  
She went limp and lay on the roof, completely soaked by the rain. He gently picked her up and carried her through one of many hidden passages to his home. When they arrived, she wrapped her in a blanket and gently set her down on the couch so he could add more wood to the fire. When she finally sat up, he said, "Go and put some dry clothes on; you'll get deathly sick in those wet clothes."  
Christine obeyed wordlessly, and returned to her sitting place in a nightgown and robe. "Tea?" she asked.  
He nodded. "Of course." He stood beside her as she drank the hot liquid.   
"I don't want to sing at the Opera again," she announced suddenly.  
He nodded in spite of his surprise. "I'll take care of it."   
"I want to be alone. Where's Jeanne?"  
"I moved her into my room."  
"Alright, then." She set the cup down. "Good night."  
"Good night. Christine?"  
"Yes?"  
"You'll be alright? You won't do anything drastic?"  
"I'll be alive in the morning. Good night."  
Erik slumped down on the couch after she had closed her door. He had almost lost her tonight. Was it because of him, the boy, or both? She needed to calm down. He hoped she would be in a better state of mind in the morning.  
He couldn't stand over her bed and watch her; she'd never allow it. So, he kept a silent vigil on the couch, starring at her door, waiting for morning. 


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7  
  
Erik was becoming convinced that Jeanne was more communicative than Christine. The young woman had been living in a dream state, simply going through the motions of life, and refusing to speak, either to him or the baby.  
She would spend her days sleeping for exceptional lengths of time, reading, or listlessly starring at the fire. She refused to eat anything other than water and bread. She had lost nearly all the color in her face, and she was much too thin. She consistently wore a dark gray gown, which added to her frail appearance.  
Erik felt utterly helpless. As much as her would have liked to, he couldn't spend all his time tending to his beloved; Jeanne demanded his immediate attention. He would do his best to make Christine comfortable during the day, but he was often exhausted by the baby's almost constant scuttling across the floor. While she napped, he would attempt to coax Christine into eating more substantial food. When Jeanne woke up, the scrambling routine began again. He was grateful for the times when the little girl could find something stationary to amuse herself with, though she often ended up breaking highly valued pieces of art. When she finally went to bed, Erik would sit across from Christine and read to her. Occasionally, she would look up at him contemplatively, but then her eyes would fill with tears and she would turn away. After about an hour of this, he would lead her to her bedroom and leave her for the night. He was awakened each morning by Jeanne's hungry squealing, and then the routine would begin again.  
Still, Jeanne would give him little reasons to smile. Though it could get annoying, he was forced to admit that he enjoyed her nonsensical babbling.   
What he did not understand was why, when he brought the baby her mushy breakfast, she would grin and giddily proclaim, "No!" She certainly wasn't saying no to her cereal-like meal; he didn't see her objecting to his presence, either.   
He decided not to worry about it.  
  
A few days later, he noticed Jeanne tugging at Christine's skirts to no avail.  
"Oh! Oh!" she pleaded.  
Christine remained non-responsive.  
Jeanne slowly slinked over to Erik and plopped herself at his feet.  
"No?" she question.  
"No, what?"  
"No..." she mumbled, glancing at Christine.  
"No..." Erik paused. "Oh?" he asked, pointing at Christine.  
"Oh!" Jeanne proclaimed, sounding frustrated.  
"No?" he asked, pointing to himself.  
Jeanne looked up at him innocently and pointed at him, as well.  
"Oh, no," Erik groaned, sinking down on a chair. So, the baby thought his name was No and Christine's was Oh. Lovely. He attributed this to his lamentations of "Oh, Christine..." and the young woman's constant response. Well, the baby had picked it up. How typical. He had secretly been waiting to be addressed as "Dada" or something similar, but no; he was Monsieur No. This was further proof that the universe amused itself by laughing at him.  
"Jeanne, my name is Erik. Erik."  
Jeanne looked at him apathetically.  
"Erik," he repeated.  
No response.  
"Eeeriiik," he drawled.  
Jeanne giggled. "No!"  
The man massaged his temples. "Erik. I'm Erik. That's Christine."  
"Bada ma ah," the baby babbled.  
"Erik!"  
Jeanne ignored him and crawled over to Christine.  
"That's Christine, Jeanne."  
"Kiiiiiiis..." the baby tried.  
"Christine."  
"Kiss-kiss," Jeanne stated.  
"No-oh, never mind!" he exclaimed in disgust.  
"No Kiss-kiss?"  
He paused. "No...no Christine."  
"Kiss-kiss?"  
"No...no kisses, either."  
  
Christine sat on her bed, compulsively twisting her handkerchief in her hands. She had been silently pondering for nearly a month...or had it been longer?  
She was a prisoner, though whether she was a prisoner to Erik or to her guilt was debatable.  
Raoul was gone for at least two years, should nothing go wrong. She could not change that. She also had nowhere safe to run to.   
She had willingly adopted Jeanne; she was responsible for the baby's safety.  
She had made a promise to Erik; it had been forced upon her, but she had still made a promise.  
She felt like crying again. She had observed him trying his best to handle the baby while she selfishly lost herself to her own thoughts, but he still frightened her. He was still the man that had kidnapped her, screamed at her, lied to her, and tried to kill her fiancée, and her as well, if she had refused to marry him. He would have destroyed the whole Opera House!  
He was a murderer. She thought of it every time she looked at him. And she could not forgive him for that, which might damn her, as well.   
She lay down and closed her eyes. It was warm in her room, but there was always an underlying chill. It couldn't be healthy, especially for Jeanne.  
Christine tried to fight back the darker part of her mind. Slowly, a twisted plan began to formulate. Erik would release her if she asked, but he would die, and she would be responsible. Raoul no doubt considered protecting her his duty; he would not marry, at least not if he remained in the state of mind he was in when he left. And, since Erik was obviously quite older than she...  
She was being so selfish and subversive! But, surely, if she did marry Erik, he would be happy, and she would have repaid any debt owed from her lessons. Still, he frightened her, and she found the thought of him touching her repulsive. "Jeanne doesn't seem to mind," the better part of her nature argued. But she was baby and didn't understand! Of course, if she suffered for his happiness, was that not an expression of piety? And didn't God reward those who suffered for the benefit of others? For what reason would He begrudge her an eventual happy marriage to Raoul?  
Angel, murderer, teacher, madman, protector, lunatic...  
Why was life so full of conflictions!  
In utter turmoil, Christine fell into a restless sleep. 


	8. Chapter 8

A/N: Okay, just for the sake of variety, Jeanne (yes, the baby) makes two brief commentaries. The chapter is a bit short, but it's setting things up for future events. And FYI: Since it's AU, and Christine is still with Erik, etc., there was no kiss or anything. Just to clear things up ^_^;;  
Oh, and I forgot: Disclaimer: I don't own POTO; it belongs to Leroux. This is based on the book, so ALW owns nothing. ^_^ I own Jeanne, though.   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Chapter 8  
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Jeanne's narration:  
  
Kiss-kiss won't talk to me. She always used to cuddle me and sing and be nice, but she's just been sitting around for the longest time. She's even ignoring No, which is hard, since he's so tall.   
Since Kiss-kiss just sits and sleeps all day, No has to cook. He has no idea what he's doing! I need variety! And I want my bottle back! Kiss-kiss doesn't complain about his cooking, but she doesn't do anything anymore.   
I want Kiss-kiss back!  
No wants me to "talk." I think I talk just fine...I always get what I want, anyway. Besides, Kiss-kiss always acted weird when she talked to No, and No wants me to call him something like "Eeeh." I think that sounds like something one would say when they're ill, so he's still No.   
Why does No wear that ridiculous bib on his face? It's usually black, but sometimes it's white; if he's going to do that, why not wear a pretty one like mine? When I knocked it off, his eyes got really big and it was funny, but Kiss-kiss got upset. I don't know why; he looked silly.   
I don't know if I like it better now or before. I miss Kiss-kiss reading to me and actually knowing how to feed me right, but then she and No would always yell about stuff and I would wake up. But now, they both seem so sad. They just can't be happy. I try to make them laugh, but they just don't get it. I mean, how much cuter can I be? There's a limit to how adorable I'm willing to act!   
If Kiss-kiss doesn't start acting normal soon, I'm gonna throw my cereal on her. And No needs to stop moping.   
Big people are stupid. They're never satisfied.   
*************************************************************  
  
Christine washed her face and examined herself in the small mirror. She hadn't realized how ghastly she was beginning to look. She pinched her cheeks to try and give herself some color, but to no avail. Sighing, she brushed her hair and decided to let it hang loose.   
She put on a sky blue dress and checked herself in the mirror again. She still looked frail.   
After the previous night's deliberations, she had come to a decision. She would marry Erik. She had promised to do so. She would have to remain beneath the Opera, as she had nowhere else left to go, anyway, so she had decided it was better to have one unhappy person than two.   
She just had to believe everything would be okay. Erik was old, wasn't he? Then he may as well die happy, she reasoned, and her promise would be fulfilled. Then, when Raoul returned, there would be no reason they couldn't start a new life together.   
Everyone would be happy; everything would work out for the best. And surely, her suffering would be rewarded. If God was just, there was no reason it wouldn't be.  
She felt sick. She was manipulating him...but she saw no other solution. It was absolutely wretched of her...  
Taking a deep breath, she opened the door and found Jeanne sitting on the fall watching Erik stack books. On closer inspection, she realized that he had built a village out of books and other objects, but while he worked on one "building" Jeanne merrily destroyed one of his previous efforts.   
Jeanne turned to face Christine and declared, "Kiss-kiss!"  
"Good morning, Jeanne," she whispered.  
Erik flinched and his book structure collapsed. Quickly composing himself, he said, "Good morning, Christine. Is everything alright?"  
Christine faked a smiled. "Y-yes. Erik, may I speak with you about something?"  
"Of course. Anything. What do you need?" She was going to ask to leave; he knew it.  
Christine twisted her hands behind her back. "Erik, I know I made a promise to stay with you..."  
"I won't hold you to-"  
She raised a hand. "Please let me finish. I promised I would stay with you...and I will. I'll..." She felt like she would faint. "I'll marry, Erik, as I agreed to do."  
He walked over to her. How had she forgotten what presence he had, and how tall he was? He stood over her like a menacing shadow. He slowly reached out towards her face, and every muscle in her body tensed; she must not run away! But...what was he planning to do?  
He gently lifted her chin up with a barely-there touch so her eyes met his. "Why?" he asked in a hushed voice.  
"Because I love you" would have been the natural response, but she would not lie to him outright. "Because I promised to."  
He released her. "The promises of worldly people mean nothing in my realm; your body is here, but your mind remains up there, longing for the daylight...I hold you to no promise."  
Part of her wanted to sigh with relief, but she continued, feeling more ill with every forced word. "I want you to be happy. I've made my choice."  
He wanted to believe her; his heart longed to believe her, but she was trembling like a frightened child!   
"Christine, I won't do this to you; I can't."  
The young woman was utterly perplexed. "Why won't you accept my decision? Make the necessary arrangements."  
He threw up his hands in frustration. "Fine! You want to marry a corpse, fine! Come along, Jeanne!" He stormed off to his chambers, and returned a moment later when he realized Jeanne couldn't follow him. With the baby in hand, he stalked off again and slammed the door.  
  
Christine locked herself in her bedroom and sobbed. What was wrong with him? Isn't this what he wanted? He truly was a madman...and now she had permanently condemned herself.   
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Jeanne's narration:  
  
Great! They're fighting again! And No was playing a really fun game with me, too.  
No is just pacing back and forth. I don't see what walking is going to accomplish.   
He's been doing this for a while; it's time for my lunch. Has he forgotten? Kiss-kiss is talking again. Why won't she come get me?  
Now he's crying. I don't understand. Didn't he saying something about getting merry-ed? Doesn't merry mean happy? They both should get merry-ed; they're always sulking.   
I wish he'd stop crying; if he doesn't, I'll start crying soon.   
I hope when then get merry-ed they'll remember to feed me. I hate being hungry.  
Hey! He took the bib off! But he doesn't look silly now...he looks awful. Is this what people look like when they're really, really upset?  
I don't understand any of this. Why can't they just get along?  
************************************************************* 


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9  
  
Christine was in her room for nearly an hour when her frightening and morbid thoughts were interrupted by Jeanne's wailing. Wiping her eyes and glancing up at a clock, she realized with some guilt that it was far past the baby's mealtime.  
Timidly venturing out of her room, she glanced around the main living space.   
"Of course," she thought, annoyed with her own forgetfulness, "he took her with him."  
So why hadn't he fed her? He was almost compulsive about the young girl's welfare. Surely, he wasn't just ignoring her crying!  
Or had he gone out to make the arrangements for the wedding as she requested? Christine wondered for a moment just how many exits Erik had leading from his hidden abode.   
She gently tapped on his door. "Erik?" she whispered. If he was there, he would have strained to hear her over Jeanne's squealing. "Erik?" she called, a bit louder. She tentatively turned the doorknob, and was surprised to find he hadn't locked it.  
"And why would he? I never go in there, especially when he's like this..." she mused silently, her fear of his temper rising with every heartbeat.   
She slowly pushed open the door, and hesitantly peeked into the room. "Erik? Where are you?"  
She didn't see anyone except Jeanne, who was sitting and crying on the floor among blankets and pillows.   
Christine scooped the baby up. "Shh. Come on, now; we'll get you something to eat," she whispered soothingly.   
Jeanne continued to cry, but her screaming ceased.  
"Hush, now. There's a girl. I'll you up some nice-Argh!"   
Christine nearly dropping Jeanne as the lid of Erik's coffin bed opened and the man sat up and glared at them. Christine openly gaped at the vampiric image.  
"What's the matter, my dear? You're completely aware of my sleeping arrangements," he stated with a dark smile.  
Christine was still horrified that he would actually close the lid over himself and risk suffocation, but she felt a sudden rush of anger welling up inside of her.  
"You were sleeping? Didn't you hear her crying? She should have been fed an hour ago! What's the matter with you?"   
"She had been crying before that; I think it's best she learns now that all tears are in vain."  
"She's a baby!" Christine snapped.  
He gave a melodramatic sigh. "She's growing fast; it's best to prepare her for the cruel world that lies ahead, with all its ironic twists."  
"What's gotten into you?"  
"Just trying to give you a taste of what you're in for, Mlle. Daaé, that's all. After all, I think it's best to be sure that you fully understand that you'll be marrying a murdering lunatic. Don't you honesty is for the best, Christine?" he hissed.  
"Stop being so childish," she said, trembling slightly. "I though this is what you wanted."  
"I want you to be in live with me; I want to share the rest of my life with you. Do you understand? I want a wife, not a mindless doll or a frightened child!" he yelled, climbing out of the coffin.  
"Erik," Christine said evenly, "I am an adult woman. I have made my decision. I want you to make the necessary arrangements as soon as possible. Please. I'm keeping my promise, Erik; what more do you want of me?"  
"As soon as possible? My, you're really in a hurry to get this over and done with," he said with acid humor.  
Jeanne began to squeal again.  
"Erik...she's hungry. Please, just...do whatever needs to be done. Just...go!"  
"You attend to her, Christine. Now."  
Christine nodded slightly and left Erik's chambers. She sat Jeanne on the floor and quickly made her cereal-meal for her. She then sat the baby on her lap and fed her.  
"I don't know what I'm going to do, Jeanne," Christine mumbled softly white she spoon-fed the child. Jeanne didn't seem to care about her adoptive mother's depressing laments.  
  
Erik returned about two hours later to find Christine and Jeanne asleep on the couch, with an open book of fairy tales lying on the floor.   
"Christine?" he said gently.  
"Uh?" She rubbed her eyes with one hand while supporting the still sleeping Jeanne on her other arm.   
"I did as you asked, Christine." She could have sworn he sounded regretful.  
"What? Oh, thank you."  
They starred at each other.  
Christine broke the silence. "I moved Jeanne's crib into my room."  
"Oh. Why?"  
"Because...well, in case she's hungry." Realizing that she had probably offended him, she quickly added, "After all, you've been doing everything to care for her while I was...thinking, and you deserve a rest. After all, it's not a man's job to tend to babies."  
He sighed. "Goodnight, Christine; sleep well." He turned to go to his chambers, and added softly, "It's tomorrow." With that, he went into his room.  
Christine suddenly had an overwhelming urge to sob. She went into her room, locked the door, and lay the sleeping child in her crib. She changed into her nightgown and lay on her back. Strange thoughts circulated in her head. Where would the ceremony be? He wouldn't dare have it in the day, would he? Her stomach lurched. He wouldn't make her sleep in the coffin with him, surely not...  
She longed for her father to hold her and comfort her and tell her everything would be alright. But, no; tomorrow night it would be Erik who held her, and certainly not in a reassuring fashion. And she would have no right to refuse her husband.   
She felt ill. She had seen the elegant gown he had gotten for her months ago...what a pity it would be if she vomited on it. She was trapped. He would have let her leave with Jeanne...why hadn't she taken the chance and fled? She had continued to complicate her problem and now she saw no escape.  
"No...you can handle this. Just lie down and close your eyes...that's all you'll have to do..." her mind raced. He wouldn't hurt her; that much she had to believe. She momentarily considered hanging herself with the bed sheets.   
"It's a sacrifice...a sacrifice for the sake of some one else. Such things are always looked on favorably and rewarded God...I'll have nothing to fear...He'll protect me and reward me..."  
She didn't cry anymore; she had no more tears. She felt numb; she felt dead. She had put herself in this position. She had to accept the consequences. 


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10  
  
Christine awoke early in the morning to Jeanne's crying. Normally, she would have groggily gotten up and prepared the baby's breakfast, but today her mind snapped to attention with such speed she quickly developed a headache. Thousands of fears and speculations hit her all at once.   
The baby's continued sobs, which were increasingly more impatient, brought Christine back to reality.   
She pulled on a robe and carried the child into the area which served as a kitchen and then placed Jeanne on the floor. The baby pouted, clearly annoyed at having to wait for two meals in two days' time, while Christine made her cereal. The young woman scuttled about and placed the gruel on the table, picked Jeanne up and sat down, plopping the child on her lap. The baby's face displayed a smug look of contentment while Christine fed her.   
While the baby ate, Christine's troubled mind wandered, thinking of the most inane things. Who would he have as witnesses? Where would he get the legal documents? How would Erik, who was always in formal evening attire, dress up for the wedding? Various options presented themselves, including one of the elusive Opera ghost dressed in Napoleon's coronations robes. Christine was so tense and the image was so ridiculous, that a hallow giggle escaped her lips.   
"He'll want everything proper, in it's place...it'll be solemn...a fine example of a pious, holy union!" she thought with dark humor, her brain this time conjuring up visions of Erik dressed as the pope. The sheer absurdity of this and her fragile state sent her into fits of hysterical laughter, which caused the chair to fall backwards, with Jeanne's head landing against Christine's collar bone and the remaining cereal splattered around the scene. Jeanne began to cry, but Christine continued to laugh like a maniac. This drew Erik out of his own dark musings, and he flew out of his chambers and it took him a few moments to fully comprehend the sight before him.   
"Christine?"  
She continued to laugh, and he gently pulled the wailing Jeanne out of her arms.   
"Christine, what's wrong? Stand up. For God's sake, get a hold of yourself!" he said, while patting Jeanne soothingly.  
Had she gone mad? Jeanne's crying had subsided, and Christine was gasping for breath after her laughing fit. Erik felt oddly annoyed, and he placed Jeanne in her crib before returning to Christine. She was lying on the floor with her eyes closed when he returned.  
"What was that all about?" he demanded.  
"Do you believe in God?" Christine asked quietly.  
Erik sighed. "The Christian God? The good, fatherly figure that watches over the earth? No. If God were truly all good, there would be no suffering, no injustice. If God is good, then He must be weak; if He is all powerful, He must not be all good."  
"You...believe Satan is stronger?"  
"No...I believe humanity's fear and selfishness is." He paused. "Why are you asking me this? What was wrong with you?"  
She smiled weakly. "I pictured you dressed as the pope."  
Erik blinked. "Oh. I don't believe I can quite picture myself as the pope." He helped her up.  
"Thank you," she whispered.  
"Christine...if you don't want to go through with this, I'll understand. Please, just tell me now."  
"I made a promise."   
"I'm not holding you to it."  
Why was he trying to destroy her fragile, perfect plan, where everyone would be happy?   
"I'm a woman of my word, Monsieur."  
He looked at her sadly. "You're dying, Christine."  
Her eyes widen in horror. "I feel perfectly healthy!"  
"No...your spirit's dying. You haven't...we haven't sang together in months."  
Singing? Was that all he thought of? It had been the farthest thing from her mind for so long...and yet, he, too, seemed lost. Why? She was giving him exactly what he wanted. Where had his passionate spirit, and his thirst for music, gone? Had she, in some way, killed his creative drive? That would a far deadlier sin than any she could think of committing, especially after all he done for her as her teacher.  
No, that wasn't it. Perhaps he actually did love her? Was her pain and hopelessness causing him to feel that way, too? No...she was still his obsession. That had not changed. She was still a caged bird. And she did not love him; pity was the most compassionate emotion she could muster towards him. Inside there was always that heated fury, waiting to be released. He was still a murderer. It was inescapable. She would forever have to be wary of his temper, for her sake and for Jeanne's.  
"I will sing with you tomorrow, if you like," she said, forcing a smile.  
They stared at each other in uncomfortable silence.   
"What time is the...ceremony?" Christine asked meekly.  
"Eleven o'clock this night."  
Christine nodded. She headed towards her room.  
"What are you doing?"  
She emerged dragging Jeanne's crib, with the baby scowling inside, which she set by the couch.   
"Moving Jeanne."  
"Why?"  
"Well, because..." Her face turned red, and she self-consciously bowed her head.  
"I see..." he murmured. "Very well; as you like."  
"Will you look after Jeanne today? I must get ready for tonight."  
"Christine, it's not even seven o'clock in the morning, yet!"  
"I want to look like a proper bride!" she cried in frustration before fleeing to her room and locking herself in.  
Erik shook his head and picked up Jeanne, who began to babble.   
"What have I done, Jeanne? What have I done?"  
  
While Christine went about meticulously dressing herself in seclusion, Erik watched Jeanne as the baby beat out a clashing chorus on pots and pans with large spoons.   
He sighed. What was wrong with him? He should have ended this months ago...he should never have brought Christine down in the first place...he knew what his place in the world was...he had no right to force her into this. And yet, hadn't she been the insistent one? It was all to keep a promise, of course; it had nothing to do with love, or even caring or compassion. She was merely fulfilling her end of the bargain. He should have let her go with the boy; it's what a gentleman would have done, what any decent human being would have done.  
But what did he care for the standards of society? Yet it had been painful to look at her, a shining jewel just out of reach. In a few hours time she would be his wife, provided she didn't suddenly come to her senses. Now, however, he wanted more to comfort and soothe her than anything else. She was an innocent child, thoroughly unprepared for what she was currently facing. And it showed. She looked so lifeless, so drained, as though her inner fire had completely burned out.   
And it was his fault. No matter how much he wanted to blame an uncaring God for cursing him with his face, or the young viscount for coming along and reminding his pupil of their delicate childhood romance, he knew in his heart he was responsible for causing her the pain she endured.   
That was unbearable. He had to make it up to her, but the small, selfish voice in the back of his mind wouldn't allow him to actually force her to leave. If she was determined to fulfill her promise, then he would let her. He would do whatever she asked of him, just as he would do nothing she did not permit.  
He was such a fool! He had been vainly clinging to the blissful romantic notion that she would come to love him, and they would share a joyful life together.   
It would never be; the universe did not favor fantasy romances dreamed up by lonely individuals.  
  
It was nearly midnight, and Christine allowed Erik to lead her through the underground maze of tunnels back to his home. Their home; she was married now. Christine felt completely disconnected from her body, and her mind felt numb.   
A younger priest with a scholarly look had preformed the ceremony. She recalled two people in the distance, but she hadn't recognized them, and her mind had had more pressing matters to be concerned about than their identities. He hadn't kissed her at the end of the ceremony, nor had the priest told him to, which Christine found very peculiar. Her veil was still over her face.  
He hadn't spoken to her as he led her back under the theatre. When he wanted to avoid something, he usually looked purposefully ahead, but now he hung his head stared at the ground; he only had the lightest hold of her hand.   
They arrived home. Jeanne was sleeping peacefully near the couch where they had left her. Erik met her eyes for the first time since leaving the little church.   
"Yes?" Christine asked, unable to hide the edge of fear in her voice.  
He sighed.  
"Well, what is it?"  
"You look beautiful."  
"It's a beautiful dress. Thank you."  
He turned away from her.   
Christine slumped her shoulders. "Better to get this over and done with..." she reasoned with herself.  
"Erik, what's wrong?"  
"Nothing," he said quietly.  
Tentatively, she touched his shoulder. "I'm fine, really. It's alright. Do you think I'm angry with you?"  
"No."  
This was ridiculous. She was exhausted and just wanted to go to sleep. Were they just going to stand there all night? The quicker they got this over with, the sooner she would be able to curl up into a ball and dream of happier times.   
She hugged his arm, and he turned to face her. She managed a smile. His eyes showed that he was utterly perplexed, but he reverently pulled her veil back. Christine bit her tongue and stiffened her muscles...she must not turn away...and nodded slightly. He kissed her briefly in a manner that was almost chaste.  
They both stared at the floor.   
"Christine..."  
She was beginning to think he was going to cry, though she had no idea why. She felt fatigued and was becoming a bit annoyed.   
Not knowing what possessed her, she blurted out, "Oh, for God's sake, just get the bloody thing over with!"  
Erik looked genuinely startled. "Excuse me?" he asked, shock clearly evident in his voice.  
"Just..." She looked up at him helplessly.   
"If you don't want to..."  
"My opinion doesn't matter; it's a matter of legalities," she thought dully.   
"I'm fine, really," she said. She turned to go to her room in a manner befitting someone readying for a meeting with the guillotine. Still, husband or no husband, she would not go anywhere near that coffin! Her room offered at least a tiny bit a security.  
When she heard him following her, she oddly enough relaxed a little. She had been mentally preparing herself for this all day; she could handle it.  
Then a stray thought slipped into her head, something she hadn't even taken into consideration. What if she got pregnant? That lonely thought stopped her in her tracks.  
"Christine?" Erik asked, though she didn't hear him.  
What if she conceived and it looked like him? Then what would she do? The thought of something looking like him growing inside her was revolting to Christine. She felt extremely dizzy. "Erik-!"  
He caught her before she could hit the floor. He gently laid the unconscious young woman on her bed. He kissed her forehead gently, checked on Jeanne, and locked himself in his own room.   
What had happened? In any case, he was sure it was his fault. And yet...she had let him kiss her. Even if he died right now, he would have that memory to cherish in whatever afterlife presented itself. He could ask no more her. Whether wife or student, she was still a delicate flower just out of reach. 


	11. Chapter 11

Sorry for the wait, but school has started. ^^;; Anyway, this chapter is a bit short, but hopefully it's a bit lighter in tone, too. Includes a brief narration from Jeanne. ^^;; Enjoy! ^_^  
  
  
  
  
  
Chapter 11  
  
Erik woke up feeling utterly miserable. He dressed and went into the main living quarters, to be greeted with an enthusiastic "No!" from Jeanne. The baby had pulled herself up and was standing by holding onto the railings of her crib, looking quite pleased with herself.  
"Well, look at you," he murmured softly.  
Jeanne continued to smile smugly at him. "Up!" she proclaimed happily.  
"Yes, you're standing up. Congratulations. Would you like breakfast now?"  
"No!"  
"No, me, or no breakfast?"  
Jeanne looked completely perplexed.   
He pointed to himself. "Erik. My name is Erik. We've been through this before, Jeanne."  
The girl glared at him and sat down, pouting. "No!"  
"Yes, we have."  
"No, No!"   
"No, what?"  
She extended her arms forward. "Eeh!"  
"Eh? Do you want breakfast?"  
"Noooooooooo!" she exclaimed in frustration.  
"Tell me what you want; you have to be at least one year old by now."  
The baby, seeing no other alternative, began to wail, which brought Christine out of her room.   
"What happened?"  
"She needs to stop addressing me as "No." It's too confusing, for both of us," he said dryly.  
"Oh, well then..." Christine picked Jeanne up out of her crib and patted her soothingly.  
"Are you feeling alright?" Erik asked.  
"Me? Oh, yes...why do you ask?"  
"Because you fainted last night."  
Christine dropped her head. "Well, you see...I was worried..."  
"Christine, I'd never force you into anything..."  
"No! It's just..." Christine bit her lip, trying to conjure up a suitable explanation. A scenario formulated, and she blushed deeply as she explained, "You see...I fully understand I'm your wife, but...really, taking care of Jeanne is more important than anything, and if I were to...become..." She gulped, "pregnant, it just wouldn't be fair to her."   
"Oh," Erik remarked nonchalantly. "Well...if she's your first priority, you can make her breakfast this morning."  
Christine sighed with relief despite the hint of bitterness in his voice. Hoping to lighten his mood, she forced a smile and said teasingly, "But I always make her breakfast!"  
He shrugged and went back to his room.   
"That could have gone better, perhaps," Christine mumbled to Jeanne.  
"Kiss-kiss, food!" Jeanne demanded.  
Christine laughed. "Alright, alright!" She set the baby on the floor and fixed her meal.  
  
  
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Jeanne's narration:  
  
No's been going out a lot, and Kiss-kiss apparently can't find something to play with, so she's been sitting me down everyday for...let's see...seven dinners, now, on the floor with her. She points to her face and says stuff like "eyes" and "nose." I want to show her how I can stand up, but every time I try to make my way over to the table so I'll have something to pull up on, she scoops me up and plops me down again! It's so annoying! I'd much rather her tell me the names of the foods she and No eat, because the stuff she feeds me is so bland. I need variety! I have a few teeth...why am I still subjected to eating gruel?  
So, now after ten dinners, Kiss-kiss can point to something and I'll say it. I would much rather be eating, though. Doesn't she realize I don't want to concentrate on frivolous things like talking when there are meals waiting to be eaten? Hmm...maybe she won't tell me the names of food on purpose, so I can't ask for them. How typical; No and Kiss-kiss always keep me in the dark on stuff. They never just talk to me about what bothers them; they must be upset about something, 'cause they're avoiding each other.  
After eleven dinners, No finally came home while I was still awake. He hasn't read to me in ages, so I figured if I showed him how well spoken I was he'd definitely do it. It didn't work; now they're both upset.  
Anyway, I got No to pick me up, and since he wears that stupid bib on his face, I had to take it off. He always looks shocked when I do this, which is really funny, 'cause his eyes get really big. Now, please remember, I just started this whole "listing" thing, so I have to go in order, you know, from the eyes down? Well, No doesn't have a nose. I guess that's okay, because I don't have any hair like Kiss-kiss, yet. But, I couldn't remember how to say what came after the nose, and I got frustrated, and I started to cry. Well, No got all upset, and so did Kiss-kiss, and she locked herself and me in her room and I had to stay with her, instead of by the couch where they've been keeping me.  
Now No won't come near me. He won't even sing to me anymore.   
Adults are so stupid; they misunderstand everything.  
*********************************************************************** 


	12. Chapter 12

A/N: Sorry again about the delay! But, well...school ^^;; Anyway, a bit of cuteness in this chapter, so smile and be happy :)  
  
  
  
  
  
Chapter 12  
  
About two weeks later, Christine was searching the house by the lake for Jeanne. Erik had gone out early, and she had decided the little house was in desperate need of cleaning. Not that it was disorganized, but her opinion of cleaning differed dramatically from Erik's. Christine, however, had lost track of time, and in the process, lost track of the baby.   
She searched the little abode inside and out with no sign a Jeanne, and by the time Erik arrived back she was in complete hysterics.  
"Christine, what's wrong?" Erik asked, removing his hat.  
"J-jeanne! I can't find her!" Christine wailed.  
"You...lost her? How? Where could she have possibly gone? Are you certain you've checked everywhere"  
"Yes! Every room! I was cleaning, and...and..." She collapsed on the floor sobbing.  
Erik was beginning to feel more than slightly panicked as to the whereabouts of the little girl, but he kept his voice even as he said, "Christine, stop that. You know it won't help. We'll find her; don't worry. She's probably just been moving a step ahead of you, that's all. You've probably past her a few times. You know how fast she can crawl, now." He gently pulled the still weeping young woman off the floor. "Christine, it'll be alright," he whispered, taking the bold action of embracing her softly.  
"It's all my fault," she wept against his chest.  
"Actually, Jeanne is quite an imp. We'll find her. Come on, now." He pushed her away delicately. "Ready?"  
Tears still flowed freely from Christine's eyes, but she nodded resolutely. Suddenly, a horrified look overtook her features.  
"What is it?" Erik asked.  
"My God...the lake!" she cried.  
Erik felt the blood drain from his face. "Christine...stay here; I'll check," he said, his voice quavering only a bit.  
He as though he were walking through quicksand on his way out to the lake. He stopped at the lake's shore and peered across the dark, glossy water. Nothing. Nor was there a sign of any disturbance on the shore. He returned into the house and Christine rushed to meet him, looking for reassurance.  
"She hasn't been out there," he said.  
The relief on her face was apparent, but then she asked, "So...where is she?"  
He sighed. "I haven't the faintest idea...you're sure you've searched every room?"  
"Yes...well, except your room."  
"Oh. Why didn't you look in there?"  
"Because it's your room."  
"Dear God, Christine! It's not like you'll be overtaken by the plague if you go in there!"  
"Well...she never goes in there..."  
"Yes, she does!" he snapped as he pushed open his door. He went to light a candle, but he nearly knocked it over when an exclamation of "peek-a-boo!" was issued from behind.  
"Jeanne?" he demanded.  
"No!" she greeted him cheerfully, sitting in his coffin with a look of smug satisfaction.  
"Jeanne!" Christine cried with mortification at the somewhat morbid scene. "What are you doing in there?"  
Jeanne continued to smile.  
"How long have been in there?" Erik asked. "How did you even squirm into that?"  
Jeanne babbled randomly.  
"Don't you ever do this again, do you understand? You're not allowed in here unsupervised!" Erik reprimanded.  
Jeanne pouted and looked up at him pitifully, with her round eyes appearing ten times bigger. "Ewik?" she whispered carefully, trying the word out.  
Erik nearly fell over. "Y-you...you said my name?" he asked weakly.  
"Aw...that's so cute!" Christine exclaimed.  
Jeanne, realizing that any threat of punishment was over, repeated with more confidence, "Ewik!"  
He tentatively picked her up; he hadn't held since she had cried two weeks ago. Jeanne babbled happily.   
Christine admired the scene for a moment. She was still nervous about him being around the child, though she had relaxed of late. How he could be so easily moved by the child's unprejudiced affection astounded her, and yet she knew he still made rounds as the Opera Ghost, dictating his whims to the managers. Outside of the little house by the lake, he was still the menacing shadow laying over the Opera Garnier.   
  
A few weeks later, Christine sat reading Jeanne a bedtime story while waiting for Erik to return from wherever he had gone. She had made a habit of never questioning his whereabouts; she considered it better not to know.   
When Christine when sure the little girl was asleep, she tenderly placed her in her crib and returned to her seat on the couch. Where was he? It was past eight o'clock at night! She hated cooking this late. She lay down and contemplated her odd living arrangements for what seemed like the thousandth time. She was married...sort of. She was technically a mother, as she was raising Jeanne. She also felt numb to the world, as if she were simply going through the motions of livings. Somewhere during her musing, she fell into a light sleep.  
  
"Christine."  
The word had been said in a weary whisper, but Christine sat up quickly as though she had been startled. "Oh...Erik. What is it?" In the candlelight she noticed that his clothes were quite wet. "Is the weather that bad? How long were you out in it?"  
He said nothing but instead pulled a newspaper out from under his cloak.  
"Page three," he finally said after a quizzical stare from Christine.  
She read the headline and stood up as she skimmed down the story. Her face paled, and she dropped the periodical. She glanced at Erik helplessly before fleeing to her bedroom and locking the door. 


End file.
